Taking The Plunge
by Radioactive Nerd
Summary: The last monster George had to conquer was a biggie: PUBLICATION.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I don't know why I haven't written a George fic yet. He was one of my favorite characters in the trilogy. Okay this is basically a story about George publishing his first story. It's called "Taking the Plunge" by the way because George is jumping into the world of publishment. Takes place in Lone Pine Timeline.**

Hill Valley, California

April 2, 1956

7:35 PM

George McFly had always know he wanted to be a writer. It was the only thing that made sense to him in his life. The only thing he was absolutely positive on. The only thing he had been confident about in his weakling days.

Writing.

When he was five years old, he had written his very first story: Jump to the Moon. It was a pretty short piece about a boy with powers that enabled him to jump at great heights. The boy used his power to travel around the solar system, jumping from one planet to the next. George had been so proud of the story but he had not shown it to anyone. Not even his mother or father. Even though it was very good, George never showed it to a living soul.

And that was the problem that had stuck to him. That one problem had stuck with him all the way to his eighteenth year. He absolutely _could not _show his stories to anyone. In fact, he treated his notebook like Fort Knox.

What if they didn't like his stories?

What if people started making fun of him again?

One of the things George greatly feared was being tormented again. He wasn't sure if that was entirely possible since he conquered Biff Tannan. But it was still a scary thought. But if he didn't show his stories to any living soul, how would he get published? Yep, he certainly had his demons to sort through. As George sat at his desk that night working on his latest story, he thought of that question.

_I can't. I won't. I can't. I won't. I can't. _

George held his aching head to get his thoughts to slow for a moment. He looked down at the contents of his desk for mistreatment: a lamp, an ink well, his collection of old pencils, and his notebook. He picked up the notebook and flipped through the pages that contained his latest science fiction.

_The Intergalactic Adventures of Max McFly_

_By George Douglas McFly_

He liked the prospect of a McFly in space. That's what inspired the story to begin with. Although, he wasn't sure where he came up with the name "Max."

This was his first science fiction series. He had started writing them a few months ago and now he couldn't stop. Max McFly would always be zooming off to new planets or trying to help a world of aliens in trouble. That was Max's job. Some of the stories were even written during dates with Lorraine.

Lorraine was the one that would always be asking to read his stories. She had seen him pouring over his notebook all the time. Especially on their date last night:

"Goldie sure is taking his time," Lorraine said, noticing that their bus boy hadn't taken their order yet.

"I think he's preparing his future slogan in the meat locker again," George said as he took out his notebook. He opened its familiar lined pages and took out his pencil from the spiral. Once he put the pencil to the paper, the words flowed out and the world around him disappeared. He was with Max McFly, leading an architectural dig on Planet Zuka.

"George the food's here," Lorraine's voice said. George looked up and blinked a little. He must have gotten lost in the story… again.

He smiled sheepishly at his girl and pushed the notebook aside and picked up his food. On his third bite of cheeseburger, he noticed that Lorraine was reaching for his notebook.

"Lorraine!" George said a little too loud. She flinched a little and the people sitting in booths next to them looked back.

George cringed with embarrassment at the memory. He shouldn't of shouted like that, not to her. She didn't do anything wrong. She was just curious. He probably embarrassed her too and probably insulted her. They were going steady and had a sharing relationship. Maybe he should let her see his notebook.

_What if she calls me a freak. _George didn't like the idea of that. Lorraine really liked him but what if his writings turned her off. Again with the what ifs…

"That's it," George said aloud. "I've got to get over this demon. Tommorrow I'm showing her my stories."

"George who are you talking too?" His mother asked from the hallway.

"No one mother!"


	2. Chapter 2

Hill Valley, California

April 3, 1956

9:07 AM

For the first time in months, George felt incredibly nervous about going to school. Today was the day he was supposed to show his notebook to Lorraine. He was a little too queasy and skipped breakfast. While packing his briefcase, George hesitated with his notebook but ultimately packed it. Then he mounted on his bike and headed off to school.

George pushed his way through the halls, looking for Lorraine. Other students acknowledged him with hi's but George merely nodded.

_I can do this. I can do this. It's just Lorraine. I can do it. _

"George are you alright?"

Lorraine was standing right behind him. She had her hair tied back today and was holding a couple school books.

"Uh yeah I'm fine," George assured, smiling. He extended his hand and Lorraine took it. They walked together toward homeroom. "Lorraine?"

"Yes?" Lorraine said as they stopped by the lockers. George bit his lip and slowly retrieved his notebook from the briefcase. He gulped: this was it.

"Would you consider reading my stories?" George asked and held out his notebook for her. Lorraine stared at it and then at George.

"Are you sure George?" she asked. "I thought you didn't want anyone reading your stuff?"

George thought about this and nearly took his notebook away. NO, he had to let her read his stuff.

"Yes I'm sure," George said and let Lorraine take the notebook. It slowly left his hands and his fingers twitched slightly from its absence. Lorraine held the sacred notebook with her books and started for homeroom.

"Oh and Lorraine!" George called after her. She stopped and turned to him. "Could you… give me some feedback on the stories?"

She nodded and disappeared with the crowd of students. George just stood there, biting his lip. He knew that Lorraine would do as he asked but a tiny bit of him was worried. His notebook was like another limb after all. It was strange to not have it with him. The bell rang and George reluctantly headed to his class.

0 0 0

George had trouble concentrating for the rest of the school day. Throughout his classes he kept thinking of Lorraine and his notebook. He had frightening images of her showing her girl friends the notebook and laughing at him:

"_Jump to the moon?" Babs said and snorted. "How idiotic!"_

_Lorraine, Babs, and Betty were huddled around the notebook. Betty flipped through some pages and pointed to the latest adventure of Max McFly. _

"_Oh my god, look at that train wreck!" She said, giggling. "Lorraine I have absolutely no idea what you see in him!" _

Scenes like that kept invading his brain until the bell rang for lunch. George left Mr. Arky's class and into the hallways. He stopped at his locker and picked up his lunch and joined the student flock toward the cafeteria.

"Hey George!"

George turned around and saw Billy Stockson behind him. Billy was a part of the Hill Valley High School student council. George sat next to the guy in social studies class.

"Molly wants to know if you're still up for that speech on the library cards," Billy asked. "It's next Monday and she can't start making flyers until she knows."

"Um yeah I'm still up for it," George said as he gently pushed past Billy. "Sorry I can't really talk now."

"Sure buddy," Billy said. "We'll talk about it at tomorrow's meeting."

George nodded and continued looking around for Lorraine. He spotted her at the back table, alone. She had a tray of food by her but wasn't even picking at it. Instead her head was bent down because she was reading George's notebook. She flipped the last filled page and then looked up to see him. She smiled and George smiled back.

_This is it, my first review._

"So, um, what did you think?" George asked, trying to remain nonchalant. He sat himself down at the table.

"It's very good George," Lorraine said and passed the notebook back to him. "Very entertaining but it's just that…"

George waited for her to finish, feeling both eager an anxious.

"It's just that I don't know what advice to give you," Lorraine said.

George looked down at his notebook for a second. On one hand he was glad that Lorraine liked his stories, but on the other hand he hungered for another opinion.

"Hey! What about Mr. Hughes?" Lorraine suddenly piped up.

"What about Mr. Hughes?" George asked curiously.

"Well he's an English teacher," Lorraine reminded. "You can ask him to read your stories and he'll definitely give some good advice."

George thought about this. He had originally just wanted to show his notebook to Lorraine. He _could_ just go home and think that he had succeeded in getting over his fear. But then he knew he would not show the stories to anyone else. Ever. So, George realized, Mr. Hughes would be a step closer to his goal.

"You know what Lorraine," George said, smiling. "I'm going to do that."

As the final bell rang, George moved past the students swarming toward the exit. He made his way to the English classroom and stopped right at the door.

This was it.

Mr. Hughes was right inside there.

_Here we go. _George thought and with that opened the door and slipped inside.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello George," Mr. Hughes greeted. "Is there a problem?"

George walked over to the desk with a knot forming in his stomach. This was "Step Two". He summoned all the confidence in him and set his notebook down in front of Mr. Hughes. This teacher was pretty kind with students, unlike some strict dictator everyone hated.

"Sir I'm a writer in my spare time," George began and opened his notebook. He flipped through the pages to show his teacher his full pages of handwriting. "And recently I've been working on showing people my stories. You see, I sort of have a problem with showing my work but I'm working on it. So I was wondering if-"

"If I would give a review of your writing," Mr. Hughes said with a knowing look. "Because I am the English teacher and am capable of giving an honest and constructive critique."

"Uh, exactly!" George said, relieved. That was much easier than he had thought it would be. "You don't mind, do you sir?"

"No not at all," Mr. Hughes said and took the notebook. "In fact I have been quite curious as to what you document down in this thing."

George smiled and exited the classroom. Waiting for him alone in the hallway was Lorraine. She was holding her books and looking at George quite anxiously. George went over to her and nodded to signal what happened. Lorraine perked up and smiled big.

"This is great George!" Lorraine said and kissed him. George reciprocated the kiss and put his arm around Lorraine, escorting her out of the school.

_I can't wait for tomorrow. Good or bad review._

Hill Valley, California

April 4, 1956

3:20 PM

George made his way quickly to the English classroom. The school day was over and George wanted to hear Mr. Hughes opinion on his stories. It was all the writer could think about through the periods and lunch. He made it to the classroom and yanked open the door (which was easier than last time).

"Mr. Hughes?" George asked and spotted the teacher at the back of the classroom. Hughes was messing with some books on the shelves (encyclopedias to be exactly). George knew that Mr. Hughes was always fussing over the alphabetic order of the precious encyclopedias.

"Ah George!" Mr. Hughes said, smiling at the student. "I was hoping you would be back today. Come and sit down."

George sat down at one of the desks in the front door. Mr. Hughes sat at his own desk and opened one of the drawers. George watched the teacher take out his notebook and set it down on the desk.

"I'm going to be extremely honest with you," Mr. Hughes started and flipped through the notebook. George watched, his heart beating a little quicker with anticipation. Was this going to be bad?

"I read this notebook cover to cover and had trouble putting it down," Mr. Hughes revealed. "My wife even called me to dinner and I was ten minutes late. Only _real _talented writers can make me miss a meal." (At that Mr. Hughes patted his pot belly stomach) "You have something very good here, George. But there is always room for improvement, and in writing, the only way to improve is to read. My suggestion is to read many diverse works of science fiction, since you are so interested in that genre. George Oswell, Jules Verne, H. G. Wells, are some good examples. Study their writing processes and take some notes. That way, you'll get a better vocabulary."

George nodded, thrilled at the good advice. He took out his small commonplace book and jotted down the names of the authors. This was going to be easy since he loved to read science fiction almost as much as he loved writing it. Mr. Hughes handed him back his notebook and stood up, extending his hand. George shoved his small commonplace book in his pocket and shook the teacher's hand. Then the writer headed to the door.

"Oh and George!" Mr. Hughes suddenly said, making George turn back. "If you're interested in publishment, may I suggest _Tales from Space. _It's a magazine for science fiction stories. Have you heard of it?"

"Yes I have," George answered as he opened the door and headed out. "Thank you Mr. Hughes for your comment."

Heading out of the high school, George went over to the bike rack. He didn't own an automobile yet and rode his old bike to and from school every week day. In the olden days, the other boys would find it hilarious to steal the bike and put it in the most random places. So, George had to purchase a lock for the bike to prevent this. But now that everyone actually respected him, George didn't have to worry about his bike being stolen. He still used the lock though (you never know).

George hopped on his bike and started pedaling toward town. It was relatively busy today and George didn't have to constantly stop for traffic. He was heading for one place and one place only: the Hill Valley Public Library. After all, Mr. Hughes had suggested some science fiction authors to check out. There was nothing else the writer had to do today, so why not go to the library now?

He leaned his bike against the library's solid stone wall and walked up the marble stairs. The outside of the library was very large and partly resembled a castle. Lucky for George, the CLOSED sign was not taped onto the door today. He pulled the heavy wooden door open and entered.

_Here I am, back in my domain. _

The Liberian, Mrs. Baker, looked up from her desk and at George. She was a middle aged woman with fading red hair and murky hazel eyes. George waved as he walked up to the large wooden oak desk.

"Well George McFly back again," Mrs. Baker said with a kind smile. "What author's work do you want now?"

"Well actually today I want to do a little research," George said and leaned on the desk. "Can you provide me with everything you have about publishment you can get ahold of?"

"It's about time you asked that question," Mrs. Baker said and hurried off. Within minutes, she was back with a reasonable sized stack of books. George took the books from her.

"Thank you," the writer said and steadied the heavy books in his arms.

"You're very welcome," Mrs. Baker said. "Now scoot, you're favorite table is free."

George nodded and walked through several aisles to get to his favorite table. It was his favorite because it had a very cushy chair and a very bright lamp. Usually the table was crowded with bookworms who studied day and night (even on the weekends). But when it was free, George took full advantage of it.

Sitting down on the cushiest chair, George pulled out his small commonplace book. He picked up the very first book from the stack and opened it. The title of it was printed on the very first page: _The Summarized History of American Publishing by Walter Collins. _George turned to the second page and began reading, immersing himself in the knowledge of publishment.


	4. Chapter 4

Study hall was always something George used to his advantage. In the old days, he would do Biff's homework during this class so he wouldn't get roughed up after school. But today George sat there at the desk with a copy of _Tales From Space _in his hands. It was a borrowed copy that Lorraine had kindly got from her brother Milton. A real page turner too.

_The Planet Police surrounded the dreaded Rexon gang with guns cocked in their direction. The whole space station went quiet with fear as the Rexons and Planet Police had a stare off. Then, all of a sudden, the whole gang pulled out their own weapons and shot them off with a loud ZAP!!! A giant mixed ray of blue energy engulfed the Planet Police and-_

Before George could finish the story, the magazine was no longer in his hands. It had been ripped out of his grasp by some quick force. George looked up and saw Mr. Strictland hovering over him.

"Very juvenile reading McFly," Mr. Strictland commented as he flipped through the magazine. "Fourth grade material, actually. Student council members shouldn't read such trash."

_Why must he never be pleased with me? _George questioned in his head.

"I'm only reading it, sir, for research." George stated and took the magazine back.

"I don't recall any english projects on fictional magazines," Mr. Strictland said.

"Well it's more of a personal project, Mr. Strictland."

Strictland stared at George in utter curiousity. Then he just watched Strictland recompose himself and go back to his desk.

_Great. _George thought. _Now he thinks I'm strange. _

With that awkwardness over, George returned to the _Tales From Space_. He finished the rest of the Planet Police story and flipped through the rest of the pages. The other stories weren't very good, well, not very interesting. At the back cover of the magazine, there was an advertisement for toothpaste and a letter to the readers. The letter was what really caught George's attention.

**GREETINGS READER **

**HAVE YOUR OWN STORIES OF SPACE EXPEDITIONS AND ADVENTURES THROUGH THE UNKNOW? WELL, MAIL THEM TO OUR OFFICE AT **_**TALES FROM SPACE **_**OFFICE 25th STREET, NEW YORK****P.O. BOX 6908 TODAY! WE'RE ALWAYS LOOKING FOR NEW WRITERS. **

George read the last line again carefully.

**WE'RE ALWAYS LOOKING FOR NEW WRITERS. **

0 0 0

The pedals on George's old bike had never moved so quickly. They were practically a blur as they were moved by the writer's stronge legs. Making the bicycle move fast away from the high school. The afternoon sun nearly blinded him as he zoomed down several residential streets. Courthouse Square was alive with the usal 2:30 busyness. Two cars honked at George as he made his way toward his destination: the post office.

He leaned his bike against the brick wall of the mail man domain. Then he took out a thick yellow envelope from his bike basket. The envelope (which he had spurled a whole dollar on) was thick from containing his manuscript of Max McFly's first adventure entitled "The New Planet". The edited edition of course. He had made sure there were absolutely _no_ spelling mistakes or plot holes. Inside the envelope was also some paper or 'query letter' (as George's father had called it).

George made his way to the post office's front desk. Out of breath from the bike ride, he heaved and huffed as he slammed the envelope down on the desk. The post office worker behind it nearly jumped a foot from the noise. He gave George a strange look similar to Strictland's from study hall.

"The... address... is on... the back," George said between deep breaths. He seriously needed to start excercizing more. That or save up money for his own car.

The post office worker did not say one word. He just took the envelope to the back wall and slipped it through a large slot. It disappeared like it was sent through a hole to the center of the earth. George watched it go, like a child going to kindergarten. That manuscript, after all, was sort of like his baby. Something that was grown and was going out into the real world. One more question was all George wanted to ask.

"Hey when... will they... respond back?" the writer asked. The post office worker merely shrugged.

"I don't know, kid." He answered. George plopped down in one of the waiting chairs to rest a bit. This truelly was it. He had really reached the big step.

_The deed is done. _George thought and fanned himself with a sports magazine.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a whole week since George had mailed his manuscript. Every day he checked the mailbox right after school (and twice on Saturday). His mother and father, whom were still in the dark about George's writing, were wondering what exactly was their son's fascination with the daily mail.

By day eleven, George's hopefulness for a response was quickly dying. More "what if" thoughts flooded into his brain.

_What if the Tales From Space staff just tore up his manuscript without reading it?_

_What if they had enough stories for their next issue?_

Or:

_What if they would never ever respond back? _

No answer, no opionion, and no acceptance or rejection would be the worst scenario. As much as George wanted to not believe it, that was a possibility. Not a huge possibility or a small possibility. Just a possibility. All he could do was shove that possibility to the back of his head and keep hoping. Who knows! Maybe they haven't even _read_ his entry yet. He had to be patient and give it time, no matter how much waiting killed him, he had to give it time.

During the twelfth day (a Saturday) George walked out of the house barefoot and checked the mailbox again. Inside were the usual bills, magazine, and catelogue that usually arrived. And like usual, no envelope bearing _Tales From Space_ on it. George sighed and brought the mail into the house. He bumped into him on the way to the kitchen.

"Hey son, fetched the mail again?" George's father, Arthur, said. George handed the small stack over and turned to leave. "Wait can you do a favor for me?"

"Sure," George said and shrugged. He had done all his homework and really didn't have anything to do. "What is it?"

"Your mother wants to clean out the basement," Arthur said. "You know how she wants to turn down there into a guest room. Anyway, I have to go back to work and I'd appreciate it if you helped out."

"Wait, do you mean cleaning out the _whole_ basement?" George asked. Cleaning out the entire basement could take well into the night. Their basement was somehow ridiculously large for a suburban house.

"No just the things that are broken," Arthur corrected. "Or… well, just the broken things. Okay?"

"Okay," George replied. He was actually a little happy to have this chore. It gave him something to think about rather than the _Tales From Space _respounce. Usually the writer didn't abhore chores but sometimes he wished he had a younger sibling to help out. Never the less, he went through the basement door from the kitchen.

The McFly basement was a pithole of useless nostalgic items that the family let pile up. Furniture, boes-o-junk, clothes, uniforms, instruments (which was odd because neither George or his parents played), and a hat collection clogged the room. George descended into the basement and, like every time, stubbed his bare toe on the pile of bricks. Whose bright idea was it to make a brick pyramid by the stairs?

Gritting his teeth in pain, George pushed the ill-placed brick pyramid away from the bottom of the steps. Then he moved on to the task his father assigned to him. What followed was a sequence of just moving:

George picking up broken and/or completely decayed objects.

George taking those objects up the stairs and out of the house.

George dumping those objects by the sidewalk in the trash.

George repeating the whole process over and over.

Finally (after at least half a dozen trips) George got to the last box. It had a rather distasteful lamp in it that was missing its shade. He struggled slightly from its heaviness and only got to moving it a little to the left. Panting from the exertion, George looked up to see the space where the box had been. Sitting there in a now-vacant spot was a black hunk of metal. Not just any simple hunk of metal, though. George quickly recognized this thing from all those pictures of real-life writers. He reached out and touched one of its dusty keys. It made a small _clink!_ sound despite it containing no paper.

"Wow," George muttered and lifted it. It was heavy but he could move it by himself. "Hey dad! Can I have this typewriter?"

No answer. His father had probably left for work already. Before George knew what he was doing, he carried the typewriter up the basement stairs. He took it all the way to his own bedroom and plopped it down on the desk. A disgusting layer of dust was now on George's hands and he darted into the kitchen to get a wet rag. The typewriter, after all, had spent years down in the dirty basement.

As he wiped the machine down, George marveled at his excellent find. For awhile he had been thinking of saving up for his own typewriter. And all that time a working one had been down in their basement waiting for him.

_Waiting for me _George thought and smiled at the notion. He finished cleaning the typewriter and loaded it with paper.

He wasn't exactly sure what he was typing, or where it was coming from. But, as the words were printed onto the paper a new-found feeling surged through him. All the way from his brain to his rapid typing fingers. He had no idea what he was writing about, but oddly, he didn't care.


	6. Chapter 6

"Get your science fiction here! Aliens visiting earth! One of a kind adventures! All free of charge!" Billy exclaimed as he waved around some papers.

Hill Valley High School students crowded in an un-organized line in front of a large folding table. A long neat row of stacks was what the folding table supported. The stacks were, of course, copies of different "McFly Originals" that each student was being handed. George was one of the persons doing the handing, the other was his friend Billy.

"Tone it down a little please," George said to his advertising friend. He was happy that his friend was helping but yelling like that was a little too much. Despite that, George's incredible feeling still hadn't worn off. Whatever it was strengthened whenever he handed someone a copy.

Early that Monday morning, George had asked Billy if he could find "a long table to put by his locker". Billy nearly got caught while getting the table out of the gym's stage. They had unfolded it and set it up in front of George's locker. It was sort of like a mini bookfair. Other students were, to George's surprised, really into it! By fourth period everyone was wanting a McFly Original. A side from Billy's yelling, they didn't even have to advertise.

_This is great! _George thought as he handed out his stories. A group of boys came to the front of the table. Among them was George's other friend Stephen. Stephen was a fellow classmate that bonded with George in English class. They had first met at the dance back in November and had been buddies ever since. Stephen was a writer too but didn't suffer from Writer Shyness. He always was slipping George his work in study hall and most of it was pretty good.

"Hey George when did you go pro?" Stephen playfully asked. He got a copy along with the other boys. Then suddenly he asked: "Can I get this signed?"

"Okay," George said without thinking. Why on earth would his friend want him to sign it? "Um, but why?"

"Because it'll make it an official," Stephen answered and smiled. "Plus, if you ever become the next Dickens, this will be worth a lot."

Laughing at that notion, George signed his name and gave Stephen the copy. The next Charles Dickens? He wasn't well-developed and articulate. It was a nice comment but George couldn't be the next anything. He could just be himself taking on the world. And right now that made him feel incredibly invincible. So invincible that the sight of Mr. Arky approaching the table didn't set off an alarm. Nor did it when Arky was hovering over him, frowning as George handed out more McFly Originals. But by the time Arky led the writer towards the office, that invincible feeling started to deplete.

0 0 0

Mr. Strictland's office was a place George had only been to twice. The first time was when Strictland caught him being squashed against the brick wall back in freshman year. The bullies were apprehended with a "warning" but George got the lecture about how being weak would "kill him in the real world". The second time was for reading in algebra class last year. Which was something he probably shouldn't have been doing anyway. Those times were way back in the past. Back when waiting in Strictland's office made his stomache ache and anxiousness murder his brain.

So as the writer sat there, he felt a small sharp ping of that anxiousness. This wasn't like the last times, he realized. This was an actual foul. Not simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time or reading in class when he shouldn't of. A foul.

After what seemed like an hour, the door opened and in stomped Mr. Strictland. His tie had bits of egg on it (from breakfast?) and his bald head was nearly red. George saw a fat vein on the teacher's neck throbbing hard. This, George recognized, was _not_ good. Strictland in his normal state was bad, but Strictland angry was the worst of the worst. George made up a quick plan to be as polite and inoccent as humanly possible.

"What…" Strictland began but paused to dump a rolled-up mass of stapled papers on his desk. From George's point of view on the other side of the desk he saw:

**Planet Jumpers **

**A McFly Original**

** By George Douglas McFly **

"What in the world were you thinking, McFly?" Strictland demanded. George thought up his answer and opened his mouth but Strictland continued. "Turning Hill Valley High School into your personal market is completely unacceptable!"

The teacher slammed the manuscript on the table again. It made a loud _WHACK! _that caused George to cringe slightly.

"I wasn't selling them, sir." George said as calm as he could.

"Oh and does that make it perfectly excusable?" Strictland asked. George was quiet. "Does it, McFly?"

"No," George muttered. He cleared his throat and met Strictland's glaring eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

Mr. Strictland leaned back in his chair to a more comfortable position. His facial expression remained the same, though.

"I know it won't," Strictland said. "Detention. All next week in room 16."

George waited a whole minute for Strictland to continue but he didn't. Seeing that his punishment was just detention, George got up and headed for the door. Before he even turned the knob, Strictland finally said something.

"McFly?"

"Yes sir?"

How's that personal project going?"

_How did he remember that? _

"It's going well, Mr. Strictland, so far." George answered and with that he left the office and returned to the somewhat normal school day.

0 0 0

Here he was, once again facing the family mail box. It was kind of funny how he was always facing this contraption lately. When he was a kid, George would always pass by it without a care of what was inside. But now he had memorized every detail of it. Every crack in the light blue paint, every dent from his father backing out without looking, and every chip in the crooked flag. Maybe he would fix it one day. Or buy a new one.

George stopped wondering and opened up the mailbox's flap. Inside was the stack of usuals once again. The depressing bills, magazines, and advertisement. George groaned and pulled all of the stuff out. Something heavy fell out of the pile and onto the ground. The writer kneeled down and picked the something up. It was a yellow envelope that looked awfully familiar. Mostly because George knew it as the same one he had sent out. He turned it over and saw the return address. Was… was this it?

His heart beating ridiculously loud, George untwined the envelope and dumped the contents out on his lap. His stapled manuscript came out first, still as crisp as ever but with a coffee stain on the first page. Some one had read it! Along with it slid out George's original letter and a second letter. George's eyes were wide with excitement as he read the letter for the response. At the very end was the answer.

He had been rejected.


	7. Chapter 7

**Dear George McFly,**

**Thank you for taking time to submit your story. It is nice to know someone is trying to add to our magazine. However, your story, THE INTERGALACTIC ADVENTURES OF MAX MCFLY: THE NEW PLANET, was not exactly what TALES FROM SPACE is looking for. Thank you again for contributing to our magazine. **

**Sincerely,**

**The TALES FROM SPACE staff **

George lay on his bed re-reading the rejection for the tenth time. It seemed like the more he read it, the more vague it seemed. What exactly didn't they like? Was there some sort of Code of Writing that he hadn't obeyed? Was it something in the dialogue? A swear word? No, not a swear word.

He put the letter on his nightstand and rested his head on the pillow. Oddly enough, he didn't feel like crying or complaining about the rejection. More than that, he wanted to sit back and wonder what to do next. Think more about why _Tales From Space_ axed his story was an option. But a bigger thing to think about was what to do next. George ran through a checklist in his head of what he already accomplished.

1. Show his notebook to someone. Check.

2. Get a serious review. Check.

3. Let more people read his stuff. Check.

4. Send something out to be published. Check.

_And got rejected… check. _

For a second, George felt like calling Lorraine. But he knew that he would do nothing but rant about the rejection to her. No one wants to listen to another person's rant, especially Lorraine. She heard enough rants from her father whenever the TV broke or the warm water shut off.

Feeling bored, George rummaged through his nightstand's drawer. There was a lot of junk in there. Broken flashlights, crumpled papers, his grandpa's broken watch, and the small notebook he once used. He hadn't looked at that thing in awhile. Naturally, George took it out and flipped through it.

There were chicken scratch notes that George could barely make out. It was something about "density" and "Lorraine". Then the memory hit the writer like a brick. It was that advice Calvin Klein had gave him back in November.

_He was good with advice. _George thought and tried to remember something else Calvin had said to him. It was something he hadn't thought of much then but the words of the boy repeated in the writer's head anyway.

"_You know, George." Calvin Klein said. "If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything." _

That was it! George bolted upright in bed from the realization. He had to keep going. He had to keep his chin up. No matter how much time it took or stress resulted. It would be hard, George admitted, really hard. But wasn't everything?

_As God as my witness, I hereby promise to make my dent in literature. _


	8. Chapter 8

EPILOGUE

True to his promise, George kept on trying. By the time he had graduated Hill Valley High he had sent out manuscripts and collected over a dozen rejection letters. A lone nail hammered into the wall held all of them up in George's bedroom. During that time, George would occasionally look up at the rejection collection and feel frustrated. The only acceptance letters he was getting were from colleges.

Lorraine was very supportive in the tough times. Whenever George felt extra-discouraged she would act like his cheerleader. She encouraged him to keep going and didn't let George berate himself. "Don't say that, George." Lorraine would interrupt. "You're good! Don't worry, soon you'll make your brake."

It wasn't until his first spring break from college that George made his break. The magazine that accepted him was the last one in the barrel. In the letter they not only said they'd print Max McFly's first adventure but that they wanted to meet him for a proposal. So George scrapped up enough money and made it to San Francisco for the meeting. Once he walked out, he had signed to write his series of Max McFly adventures.

George loved his job and the very fact that he was being _paid_ to write. He had an idea with what to do with the money in the long run: a ring. But when the first paycheck was received, George knew just what to use it on.

On one Saturday, George's father was surprised to see his son, with brand new tools, building a new mailbox.


End file.
